


translator

by piehunter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Body Positivity, Body Worship, Chubby Reader, Hand Jobs, Heavy Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Reader-Insert, all we know is that they're in the bunker, baker reader, body issues, like you bake stuff ???, lowercase on purpose, this really doesn't take place at any point, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piehunter/pseuds/piehunter
Summary: you are a translator for the winchesters , but what happens when you start falling for the elder brother ?





	translator

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Through His Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549708) by [lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster). 



> please check out the muse for this fic,,, honestly,,, it's so good ( and better than mine )
> 
> thank you to my 'beta', cici ! you ' re honestly a doll !!!

at first, you were just a translator.  
you spoke multiple languages, and you could even read in enochian, thanks to castiel. you would sort and translate books and ancient texts that weren't in english.  
then, you got through all of the books. eventually, you began to feel useless, like all of your worth had been taken with the final snap of that book.  
sometimes, the boys would drop off some texts that they needed translated, and you were quick to write them out in english. but once that was done, you would sit alone in your room for hours, reading various foreign books due to a lack of something to do. then, the boys got you a laptop for christmas, and you spent other pieces of your time learning other languages with online tutors.  
soon enough, you stumbled across some recipes online. you wanted to try them; however, you were hesitant, as you hadn't cooked/baked in a long time.  
you bound a book for any interesting recipes you stumbled across, and you would copy them down, as well as any notes about the recipes. these notes would include who likes them, (dean basically loves everything, but he's quick to tell you if he doesn't, which you could appreciate.) any special ingredients added, etcetera.  
one afternoon, you were quietly baking in the kitchen (a new recipe for an apple pie that i was trying to perfect the dough for) when you heard soft footsteps.  
you rolled your eyes.  
“no, dean, i don't have any cookie dough.”  
you heard a gentle yawn, then a hand rested against your shoulder.  
“whatcha makin’?” he asked sleepily, and you smiled into your mixing bowl.  
“apple pie. i'm trying to get the crust right.”  
he perked up at the mention of pie, and you saw his smile out of the corner of your eye.  
“pie?”  
“yeah, you goin’ senile, winchester?”  
he rolled his eyes with a snort.  
“ha, ha, very funny,” he grumbled, and you turned and pinched his cheek.  
“awwe, did i hurt your feelings, sweetheart? i'm making pie, so that should be apology enough.”  
he had a soft, cocky smile on his face.  
“nah,” he scoffed, “didn’t hurt my feelings.”  
“whatever you say, winchester,” you turned back to the oven, mixing the crust batter just a little more before letting it chill in the fridge, turning back to dean.  
“is sam still asleep?” you asked, trying to start a conversation.  
“probably. he sleeps like a dead horse,” he joked, and you rolled your eyes once more.  
“like you don't, mr. i sleep 'til noon because it's too early to get up.”  
“what?! it's true! it's not like i have school in the morning; i can sleep for as long as i want, and you'll be in here, making pie, and i'll eat the pie, and your baking is so good and i'll cry because it's just so good…”  
“you need to calm down. it's not that good; you act like this pie is going to be your holy bible.”  
“it may damn well be! i'm gonna worship that pie and all of its sweet apple slices.” you could practically hear his mouth watering, and you patted him on the chest as you set the timer.  
“just don't fuck the pie while i'm in the room, okay?” and with that, you sauntered off, heading off into the library to find a quick read.

“hey!” dean called through the bunker when he heard the timer go off thirty minutes later, “the crust’s done!”  
when he received no response, he ventured to find you, when he stumbled across your room, which had the door shut.  
he knocked gently on the door, and when he heard nothing, he opened it slowly.  
“kid, are you in here?”  
silence.  
he looked around the room. it was a cozy little room; the smallest room in the bunker that could fit a bed. the room was painted a soft, pistachio green and had angels painted on the walls. when dean walked closer, he recognized castiel, himself, sam, charlie, and kevin all painted with beautiful wings and soft, happy eyes.  
under them, there were dates. when he considered the dates for moment, his stomach dropped. they were all instances of when they had died while you were here.  
tears welled in his eyes, and he stumbled back into the desk. he bumped a stack of books, which clattered to the ground.  
“shit,” he muttered, picking them up, then noticing that they were all hand bound. he didn't know that you were able to bind books, so he looked at one for a moment.  
it was bound in a blue leather and was detailed with white stitching that made a rose on the front. he smiled at the sight, then put the books back, all except for the the blue one.  
he continued looking around (not rummaging, just scoping out the room.) the room practically screamed your personality. there was a cactus in a tiny pot on your bedside table beside your framed photo of you with dean, sam, and castiel.  
he picked up the frame, a smile pulling at his lips. in the picture, he had just been pulled out of hell maybe a few months prior, and he was smiling at you, not paying attention to the camera. sam smiled at the camera, arms wrapped around all of y'all in a goofy hug, which had castiel with a confused smile.  
he put the photo down, then left the room, looking for you.  
“y/n?” he called down the hallway, and then he heard it…  
sobbing.  
you were crying in the library, hunched over your notes about a book that had been long since forgotten by then.  
“y/n,” he breathed, quickly moving over to you and planting his hands on your shoulders, “what's wrong, kiddo?”  
“nothing, nothing,” you dismissed everything that he was witnessing, wiping your eyes shakily.  
“there's obviously something wrong, bud, you're crying. please tell me what's wrong?” he pleaded, voice soft yet unyielding.  
“no. no! i need to… take care of the pie, there's nothing wrong, nothing at all!” you babbled, moving from the chair and pushing past him, stumbling out into the hallway.  
“y/n, man, you look like death, please tell me,” he whispered, following after you.  
“nothing's wrong, dean,” you replied stubbornly, rubbing at your reddened eyes furiously.  
you washed your hands while dean waited for an answer, yet you still refused to give him one. he was patient enough, though; he sat on the counter, watching your movements carefully.  
you quietly prepared the apple innards and folded the crust into the pan, and he stayed silent, waiting.  
“i'm sorry.”  
you didn't meet his eye. you couldn't, honestly; you couldn't admit all of your insecurities to him with his perfect, spring green eyes judging you from mere feet away. in your heart you knew that dean was too good to judge anyone based on their looks, but everyone seems too good until it's not true.  
“for what?” he asked, voice as soft as the tremor in your fingers.  
“that… earlier. i… i wasn't having the best time with my self-esteem, and i'm sorry.”  
he paused, as if gauging how he should react to that.  
“you don't have to apologise for that.”  
your face burned with shame.  
“to put someone like you through that? i think it's the polite thing to do.”  
“what do you mean, 'someone like you?’” he questioned, and you shrugged nervously, wringing your wrists for a moment.  
“i dunno,” you mumbled, suddenly struck by an old shy habit to duck your head into your shoulder gently.  
“yes you do,” he said, “what do you mean?”  
“i mean… i mean good looking people. and don't give me any of that humble bullshit either, you know that you know that you're gorgeous, don't even deny it. i'm just… whatever i am, and you're all adonis-like… i dunno,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair nervously, your face red with humiliation.  
“where is all of this even coming from?” he asked, moving from the counter.  
“i-i dunno,” you answered again, which was a lie this time; you did know--you had fallen in love with the elder winchester, and he didn't even know it.  
“beauty is subjective, y/n.”  
you pursed your lips, your ears hot with embarrassment.  
“i think that if anyone didn't think that you were beautiful, at least physically, then they might have been blind,” you supplied, and he still frowned.  
“why are you comparing yourself to me?”  
you shrugged, falling silent. you couldn't make that any worse if you just shut your trap and ignore his intense gaze.  
“don't go mute, man! i have to talk to you.”  
you filled the emptiness in the pan with apple filling, then began making a wicker basket design.  
“hey, guys,” you heard sam yawn from the doorway, and you looked up at him with a shaky smile.  
you put the pie in the oven, then glanced at the recipe that you had been revising so many times once more.  
“what's going on? did i miss something?” the younger winchester asked, rubbing his eyes and moving towards the coffee machine, most likely sensing the tension between you and his brother.  
“y’didn’t miss a thing, sammy, y/n was just baking an apple pie.” sam got this lazy smile at the sound of pie.  
“i love your cooking; i can't wait.”  
you smiled shyly.  
“thanks, sam,” you whispered, pushing past the brothers, down your hallway, and into your bedroom.

dean looked at the blue notebook that he had dropped in his rush to help you with whatever you needed at that moment later on that day.  
he had locked the door and turned off most of the lights, then opened it.  
on the inside, there was an adorable sketch of eeyore with a balloon stuck to his ribbon of a tail.  
dean’s eyes crinkled at the care taken to draw your favorite character from your childhood, and then he flipped the page.

journal entry #1 - 04/17/09

dean was lifted out of hell a few months ago, and i'm glad that he's back. i really missed him, and i missed sam, since he all but left me for dead after dean died, but i didn't care. i knew that he had a lot to deal with; the grief was probably killing the poor guy. i felt bad, and i honestly still do. sometimes, sam looks like he still can't believe that dean's back, and that he can't believe that we're friends with an angel.  
did i mention that we're now on good terms with an angel? it's been a hell of a ride on the road so far. i’m gonna try to document this. keep the memories alive, y’know?  
ciao!  
y/n

attached to the page, there was a single polaroid of you and dean. you two were smiling, and he still wore that necklace that sam got him on that christmas oh so long ago.  
he flipped the page once more, and began recounting all of the hunts that they had went on with you, along with savoring various pictures.  
at one point, the pictures began to exclude you, cas, and sam, only focusing on dean. he found this strange, especially when the entry would only mention him once or twice.  
then, he saw it.

journal entry #65 - 11/01/12

there's a problem.  
sam and dean threw a little party that would celebrate halloween, which i thought was weird, because everyday is halloween for them, but i digress. to make a long goddamn story short, we got drunk. i'm not talking about “whooo i'm a little tipsy ;)” drunk, i'm talking, “holy shit i can't even see my feet” kind of drunk, y’know?  
so, we're all shit faced, and suddenly dean just thinks that it'd be the greatest idea to play spin the bottle with only two conscious people. (sam had passed out about ten minutes beforehand) i don't know why i agreed to this in the first place, if i'm being totally honest. i couldn't even think straighter than my sexuality, and that's bad if you can't do that, man. so, again, long story short, we fuck.

dean’s breath hitches, his brain going into a massive panic mode, and then he continued reading:

just kidding. we did kiss though. good kiss? hell yeah. good for us? hell no. i wake up the next morning after passing out on the floor, and dean's blacked out on the table. i wake him up with a nice bucket of cold water, and he insists that he doesn't remember what the hell happened last night.  
oh well. i can never have one good thing.  
honestly, i think that it's a good thing that he didn't remember. he would've pushed me away because he's straighter than an arrow and is basically a bond type of womanizer. do i like it? no. do i care if it makes him happy? i guess not.  
aloha.  
y/n

dean looks at the picture attached, and it's of you two shooting back shots. his stomach turns for a moment, closing the book and running his fingers through his hair.  
why wouldn't he have told me about this? dean thought, rubbing his eyes.  
it suddenly occurred to him of what you had said earlier.  
'i’m… whatever i am, and you're all adonis-like and i dunno…’  
and you had described him gorgeous and beautiful. why hadn't that struck him as just little odd when you had said it?  
were you right? no.  
no, dean didn't think that he was beautiful, he figured that he was some kind of whore trying to get girls to fuck him based on appearances alone. he was a monster that killed other monsters just to get by; to feel good about himself, this was what he had had to do.  
he flipped the page once more, and oh shit.

journal entry #66 - 10/10/12

we haven't really done much since that party. i've been waiting for someone to remember what happened that night, but everyone seems to have some sort of memory issue.  
i'm going to admit this now, for my mental sake, and for my probable future mortification:  
i think that i have a crush on dean winchester.  
yeah, oh shit, right? i know. it's just a crush, i think. it'll pass eventually. anyways.  
au revoir.  
y/n

dean couldn't breathe. this was all too much. he thought for a long time, silence stretching through the room, when it suddenly hit him:  
i do remember.

there was loud rock music rolling throughout the bunker as i mocked the guitar solo and sam set up the drinks.  
“well. this is gonna end bad,” y/n said, rubbing his forehead as a stress reliever.  
i laughed, stopping 'my’ guitar solo as i waltzed over to sammy, grabbing the vodka, waiting for his go to take the first shot.  
“really, dean? vodka as your first intake of alcohol? you're insane,” sam said with an incredulous shake of his head.  
“nah, i'm just living my life, man! i am gonna get the drunkest drunk like i'm a frat boy at a college party,” i replied, and y/n sighed.  
“you're gonna die of alcohol poisoning,” he set up the shot glasses, pushing past me with a quiet mutter of, “dumbass.”  
“hey, don't be mean! we're gonna get drunk as fuck, and i don't need you running all over my positive vibes!”  
“positive vibes?” y/n snorted.  
“yeah! isn't that what those kids on the internet say nowadays?” i responded, filling up the glasses.  
“what would you know, old man?” he teased, shoving me on the shoulder once i finished pouring the vodka.  
“you are basically three months younger than me!”  
“so? if you're older, you're the grandpa.”  
“rude!” i scoffed, though i was smiling as i picked up a shot glass.  
y/n picked up one as well, and sam raised a camera.  
“one, two, three,” i counted down, and we shot back the vodka, which burned as it went down my throat.  
y/n coughed and wheezed, and i slapped him on the back. he waved me off, laughter erupting on his lips.  
“it's fine, it's fine, just haven't had any vodka in a long time,” he smiled reminiscently, “not since my college days.”  
it hit me then that we had practically pulled y/n away from getting that fine arts degree that he had always wanted, and it struck me how selfish we were. he was just a guy pulled into this life because of tragedy, just like us. i had never asked him whether or not he wanted to go back.  
“but,” he said, shooting back another shot, “that’s all fine now. let's get drunk!”  
i patted him on the shoulder fondly, my smile already slightly buzzed.  
“good idea!” i hooted, throwing back another shot.  
sam merely shook his head at us, throwing back a shot as well.  
after a couple of drinks, we were drunker than anyone had ever been, ever.  
okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but seriously, it was pretty bad. sam had passed out on the floor a few minutes ago, and i was playing spin the bottle with y/n, who was giggling and rolling on the floor laughing.  
“ooops, it landed on you,” i howled with laughter, and he crawled over to me, tears staining his face with laughter.  
“kiss me like one of your french girls,” he slurred, and i smushed our lips together, his tongue meeting mine messily. his hands tugged at my hair, and i remember his breath smelling like a mixture of vodka and mint; it was intoxicating.  
my hands pushed at his jacket, my body so ready to just pin him to the wall and push away any straight cred that i had accumulated over the years.  
he pulled himself into my lap, thick thighs straddling my hips as he pulled at my hair, exposing my neck.  
i pushed him off, perhaps remembering the fact that i was straight, or maybe i knew that doing this drunk would only bring us regret.  
“wha-” he looked genuinely hurt and confused, almost like a kicked puppy, and i wanted to kiss the sad pout off of his lips.  
“i’m s’rry,” i stumbled, “i wanna, but… we're drunk, i think? so we shouldn't.”  
“uh, okay,” he still looked sad.  
“g'night, dean,” y/n spoke softly, quickly dozing off on the floor.  
i finished off the last of the vodka, my head falling forward on the table as my vision went dark.

he stood quickly, knowing what he had to do.  
he rushed to your room, which was fortunately near his, and knocked on the door.  
“what?”  
“i found your journal.”  
you slammed the door open.  
“what?!”  
“i want to talk to you.”  
you went, pale, your eyes wide and your body shaking.  
“no, no, no,” you choked as he moved towards you, and you began to move backwards, tears welling in your eyes, “please don't.”  
“don't what?” he asked softly, and you let out a desperate sob.  
“don't hurt me,” you whimpered, bracing yourself.  
dean looked puzzled, then that fell to the most heartbroken expression ever imaginable.  
“do you think that i'm a monster? that i’d hurt you because you like me?”  
you shook your head meekly, your back against the wall.  
“i'm sorry, i'm sorry,” you sobbed, curling into yourself.  
“for what? come on, y/n. just say it.”  
“i can't! i can't…”  
“then did you mean it?” he was trying to be patient, but you were a mess.  
“i…” you faltered. your voice couldn't take it, but you just ripped through, knowing that this nightmare would be over sooner or later.  
“i did.”  
“then why can't you say it?”  
“because it's not just that anymore, dean! i love you!” you exploded, tears falling.  
“and i know that you don't return anything that i feel, so i'll make it less awkward and just pack my shit and go.”  
he grabbed your arm, then, without warning, kissed you.  
to put it lightly, you were shocked. his lips were soft, and you stood there, frozen in your spot.  
he pulled back, confused.  
“sorry, i expected you to hate me,” you mumbled, shifting on your feet.  
“i could never hate you,” he said, taking your hand, which was still shaking.  
you pressed your lips to his, your body thrumming with nervous tension.  
he tilted his head to the side gently, and you opened your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours.  
your free hand curled in his hair, and you tried to brush off the sickness in your stomach that rose when you thought of dean seeing your body.  
you weren't built, and you definitely weren't skinny. perhaps a middle, but you had soft, squishy thighs and a soft middle, even though you could kick ass like no-one would believe. all of this weight was from constantly baking and sitting around the bunker doing basically nothing.  
“hey, darling, what's wrong?” his voice was slightly husky, and you shook your head, pulling your lips back so your head could rest against his shoulder.  
he was chiseled, broad, and strong and you were molded, wide, and soft. you felt like a marshmallow compared to him.  
he rested his hands on your hips, resting his jaw against your head gently.  
“i've been waiting to kiss you for a long time, y/n,” he began, his voice far away and his thumb rolling circles in your hip, “even though it doesn't seem like a while, and it feels like every moment i spend with you is always in a hurry.  
“but then, i found out that you returned my feelings, and i was so overwhelmed with happiness and just total what? that i started shaking, like you do.”  
you smiled against his neck, and he continued, “so i came in here to confront you. when i was making out with you while i was drunk, i didn't venture further because i thought that we'd regret it in the morning.”  
“that was a good call,” you murmured, and he smiled.  
“i guess so, if it all led to this.”  
you leaned up and kissed him. the kiss was long and breathy, but you didn't mind, as you eventually got yourselves situated on the sheets, the kisses growing faster and hungrier.  
he threaded a hand in your hair, putting a leg over your body as he pressed his groin on yours, shivering softly.  
you shifted your hips up gently, and your breath flew out of you in a barely there wisp.  
he rolled his hips tenderly, and you cantered up, panting against his lips.  
he moved a hand under your shirt, and you panicked, pulling back.  
“don't, don't, don't,” you whimpered, and he looked confused.  
“i won't do anything that you don't want me to do, honey. what's the matter?” he rested his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes.  
“i’m fat, okay?” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes, “and i don't want you to have to see it.”  
“but sugar, i wanna see it. i wanna see every inch of you. and you're not fat.”  
“says you. you're all muscle and golden skin and beautiful, and i'm just… not enough.”  
“oh my god,” he rolled his eyes, rubbing his hands over your sides, “stop comparing yourself to me! you are so, so beautiful. so what you've got a little bit of extra love on you? more for me.”  
you blushed, covering your face with your hands.  
“so… continue, or?”  
you nodded, kissing him once more. his tongue brushed yours, soft and sweet, as he trailed a hand under your shirt.  
he squeezed your stomach, and your face lined with shame.  
“take off your clothes and show me everything that you dislike about yourself,” he commanded, and you were sure that the pink in your face was spreading down towards your stomach by now.  
you undressed, feeling his eyes on you at every moment. you were ashamed.  
what if he hated you? what if he kicked you out? what if--  
“oh my god, sugar. you're breathtaking,” he whispered, pulling you down onto the bed and kissing you again, slightly hungrier than before.  
you felt his hands grab your ass, and you whimpered.  
“what don't you like about yourself?” he asked, and you avoided his gaze.  
“my stomach and my thighs, mostly…”  
“this stomach?” he pressed kisses into the softness there. “this one right here? god, i love how soft you are.”  
he trailed his kisses from your pectorals down to the dusting of hair above your waist.  
“and your thighs? oh my god,” he groaned, biting the insides of your thighs gingerly, “i want them wrapped around my hips as i make love to you, and i want them wrapped around my face constantly.”  
you moaned, spreading your legs slightly wider for him.  
he kissed, bit, and licked the insides of your thighs, his hands travelling up to your hips.  
he came back up once more, kissing you.  
“anywhere else?”  
“i hate my ass.”  
“are you actually fucking serious?” he kneaded his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass, and you gasped. “this is the most beautiful ass i've ever seen. it's so soft and perky and oh my god when you wear skinny jeans, i swear i almost came in my pants one time when you were baking for christmas, and you bent over to get what was in the oven. your ass is practically edible.”  
you laughed.  
“that good, huh?” you teased, and he smiled.  
“that good,” he affirmed, kissing you hungrily.  
“i hope you're ready to accept how beautiful you are,” his voice was a low grumble.  
you bucked your hips up softly, and he just kissed you, nipping your bottom lip.  
he kissed his way all the way down your torso, then, without warning, took you in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.  
you moaned, arching your back and pulling his hair.  
he took you so far down his throat that he nuzzled his nose into the light amount of curls at the base.  
“oh, fuck!” you cried out when he nipped his teeth softly into the hypersensitive tip, his tongue wreaking havoc on your shaft.  
you tugged his hair, rolling your hips up to meet his face.  
he rolled your sac between his calloused fingers, and you cried out, back arching with a loud gasp.  
you looked down, and he was staring up at you, panting around your cock, and you felt desire coil up in your gut.  
“i'm gonna--”  
he suddenly pulled off, coming up to kiss you, undressing.  
once he was naked, you gawked at his chiseled muscles.  
you ran a hand over his firm back and hard shoulders, amazed that a human could even look this good.  
“you're gorgeous,” you breathed, though you were choking back tears.  
“hey, no, no crying,” he cooed, kissing you.  
“it's just… you're so beautiful, and i'm… not.”  
“y/n, i swear to god, stop comparing yourself to me. you are so, so beautiful and handsome and hot and all of these things that i can't even describe,” his voice was stern.  
you curled your fingers in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss.  
his tongue tangled with yours with earnest, his hips rolling with yours, making both of you moan at the friction.  
you squeezed his ass, your lips still connected, though only barely.  
he cried out, eyelids fluttering as his mouth dropped open. his spunk coated the both of your stomachs and cocks, and you mewled at the new friction, kissing him and falling into orgasm as well.  
you slumped against each other, your hand coming up to rest against his lower back.  
“i love you,” he whispered, and tears welled in your eyes as you kissed him.  
“i love you too, dean. so, so much.”  
he traced the freckles that were lain across your chest, shoulders, and arms. you watched him with gleeful eyes, as his nose, smattered with freckles, scrunched up in thought.  
“i can't even… i can't believe that this happened. i feel like i'm gonna wake up any minute now,” you confessed, and he met eyes with you, his eyes full of vulnerability and affection.  
“me either. god, i could never have imagined being loved by someone as beautiful and magnificent as you. you're so kind,” he kissed your forehead, “witty,” kissed your nose, “smart,” kissed your cheeks, “and so gorgeous.”  
he kissed your lips this time, his hands cupping your face.  
you smiled against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.  
the kisses were slow and lazy, as you were practically asleep while doing it.  
he pulled off a while later, getting up.  
“i'll be right back, honey.”  
he walked out for a moment, then came back with a warm washcloth.  
he wiped you down, and you smiled at the slight tickle you felt when the cloth brushed against your stomach.  
“'you ticklish, sweetheart?” he questioned, grazing his fingers over your ribs.  
your stomach shook, your eyes squinting as you tried not to laugh.  
he scratched over your ribs lightly, and you started giggling, trying to move his hands away.  
“stop it!” you laughed, but he just stared at you, his fingers still ghosting over your ribs.  
when you noticed his mental absence, you stopped laughing, though you still had a soft smile present on your lips.  
“what's wrong?”  
“nothing, i just don't see you laugh that hard very often,” he explained, and you smiled wider, your face going red.  
you just pulled him in for a kiss, and he smiled. you pulled back after a long moment, and he rested his forehead against yours, your eyelashes fluttering against one another.  
“i haven't felt this happy in years,” you breathed.  
“me either. the last time i ever felt this happy, we found cas alright and alive after that whole leviathan ordeal.”  
you wrapped dean up in a hug.  
“same here. i love you, dean,” you added, and he blushed, smiling. your eyelids were heavy and you were nearly asleep when he replied.  
“i love you more.”  
and you were out like a light.

**Author's Note:**

> any comments ? questions ? oooh , requests ? i dunno . hope you enjoyed !


End file.
